Built and Bred
by Music Is The Song Of Life
Summary: The Capital makes its sacrifices too. Each year, two Tributes are offered into the Hunger Games. But there's a reason they call it a Draft and not a Reaping. These children are soldiers, built and bred for war. They can't win, so they have nothing to lose. And they are quite possibly the most deadly Tributes that any have to cross.


Seven. Such a simple number; nothing significant. It was the number of female Draft Candidates that were eligible for the Games this year. The number of years she had faced the draft. Probably the number of times she would enter the Games. She had gone every year since she reached Drafting age; why would this year be any different? It was the number of her home district; her true home. But none of that mattered. She belonged to the Capital. She would be a Capital tribute.

Wren stood tall on the stage set up on the stairs of the Capital City Hall, blinded by the fluorescent lights set up around the area. Surrounding her were many faces, plastered in makeup and absurd clothing. Come to think of it, they were more like costumes; brightly colored and hideous in design. But these people were fashion forward, among the richest in the country. While most of the states in Panem were starving and withering away, fighting for what little they had, the people here were squandering away their money on ridiculous clothes and cosmetic procedures. They bet a lot on the Games too. Oh how these people loved the Games! They waited all year just for a chance to glimpse at the Tributes up close. This time of year was one of the most exciting in the Capital. And the worst for the rest of the country.

Taking in the other candidates, Wren knew the outcome of this draft without much thought. The other were much younger, not nearly as strong. A 16, four 15s and a 12. Four of the candidates were hiding borderline tears. The 12 was in all out hysteria, panicked eyes darting back and forth. They knew what awaited them in that Arena. Almost certain death. Not Wren. She had faced the hell on earth in that pit for six years before. And she would do it again. There was no way, not even in Hell, that Snow would pass up the opportunity for that kind of show, not when she was guaranteed to pull in sponsors galore.

Along the other side of the stage, the male Candidates stood in a mirrored line, facing the crowd with hardened faces. The only one she saw faltering was the 14, whom Wren could she shaking from the opposite side of the stage. A dark smirk made its way onto the 18 year old's face. Amateurs.

The crowd erupted as the Escort, a man by the name of Hammon Feist made his way onto the stage. "The Ham" as many of the Canfidate trainees liked to refer to him as. A portly man with pink skin, he always resembled a well dressed (if you could even call it well) pork delicacy. Not to be outdone by anyone in the crowd, the middle aged man had on a pompadour wig in the most outrageous shade of neon green Wren had ever seen. His suit was pressed, but was red with black pinstripes, so all around the only thought Wren could form was an image of a giant strawberry making the announcement of the Draft Candidates for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. The dark smile returned.

"Welcome everyone, welcome" the pudgy little man began, his voice silencing the crowd, "To the 74th Annual Draft of the Capital!" cheers erupted, and Wren eyebrows furrowed in anger. They were cheering them to their deaths.

"President Snow would like to welcome each and every one of you. He knows how important the Hunger Games are to you, the people of the Capital, and the people of Panem; and as always, he wishes every Tribute the best this year In hopes that the Victor will be one that Panem can be proud of…."

He droned on and on about the President's well wishes and how much the Games meant to the country for ages, eons even. It was the same speech every year, the same political bullshit she could always expect from the people of the Capital. They were anything if not predictable. Finally, it came time for the actual Draft. The rest of the country called their ceremonies Reapings. I suppose the situation was different when going into the Games was more like a death sentence.

"As always, ladies first," Hammon began as he slipped his hand in the glass dish on her side of the stage. Wren watched him dramatically wave his hand around the seven slips of paper inside, as if to create some sort of suspense. He failed with her however; she knew who was going in this year. Hell, every one of those slips of paper probably had her name on them, just so there'd be no mistakes. Finally settling on a selection, the small strawberry of a man withdrew his hand from the bowl. In his hand, a silver piece of paper, taped closed in the center. Hammon opened the slip carefully and took I'm his selection carefully. A cheerful gleam lit in his eyes and a wide smile spread across his face as he leaned into the microphone to announce to Panem the female Candidate.

"Wren Enterra!"

Her head shot up, her eyes narrowed as the cheers erupted from the crowd. Hideous screams and applause filled her ears until she could no longer hear her own thoughts as she tried to think coherently. Seven years running. She would be the first Tribute from the Capital to serve in every Games she's been eligible for. Unprecedented. But she would not be outdone. She would make it out. And after this year, she would be free.

Moving to stand next to the Ham, Wren forced a smile onto her face. She knew how to play the Capital's games. Either she went along with their plans or someone could get killed. She would allow anyone else to take the fall for her. She shook the pudgy man's hand, and stood military styler next to him, hands behind her back, feet apart. It was how they had all been trained to present themselves. Confident. Unwavering. Lethal.

"Now, for the Male Tribute who will represent the Capital!" Hammon put on the same show for the second dish, and Wren could feel the suspense in the room. The Capital citizens fell silent as they watched, mesmerized by the waving hand of the Capital escort. Their eyes focused on the seven slips of paper inside as Gammon pulled a single slip from the bowl. Waking back to the microphone, he ripped open the slip and started at the printed name in front of him.

"Reaver Galloway!"

The crowd erupted once more as a tall, black haired boy moved forward from the group of males. He was a 16, much taller than Wren; with a slender, athletic build. Reaver made eye contact with Wren, and the pair smiled at one another. Upon making his way to Hammon's side, Reaver walked past the escort and embraced Wren, the two friends happy to be reunited in this troubled time. They knew the stakes, but they would win this. The two separated and Reaver stood in his spot to The Ham's right, his stance identical to Wren's. Hammond grabbed a hand of his Tribute's in each of his and raised them high above his head; or as high as he could manage seeing as he was shorter than both.

"Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the Capital Tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

Loud cheers and whistles broke out throughout the city, for the draft had been televised to , not only the capital, but to the rest of the country as well. It always happened early in the morning, before the Reapings. Another intimidation tactic the President used; let them see the killers they'd be up against. Wren and Reaver especially had been an unstoppable forc, and it looked like she'd be going out with a bang. The two teens locked eyes again before smiling the ever dark smile that had become Wren's signature over the years. Using their opposite hands, they waved to the people of Panem and the Capital, taking in the attention and preparing for the real challenge. The Hunger Games had begun.


End file.
